Free On the Auction Block by Ashley Zacharias Page B

had no choice. She couldn’t
wait for a sunny day to learn to cook. Here by the Western Sea, it
sometimes rained for weeks without stopping.
    The housedress had no pockets. That was
standard for a slave dress. Nobody wanted his slave to be able to
fill her pockets with items stolen from the house. An owner could
not keep a slave that he could not trust and it was expensive to
lose slaves that way. So Flame had to carry the twenty-plaq note
and the electronic gate key in her hands.
    By the time she reached the end of the block,
her dress was drenched and clung to her like green skin. Passers-by
could see that she was wearing no bra or underwear.
    Young men slowed their cars and shouted lewd
comments at her. Old ladies called her shameless when she passed
their houses.
    But no one molested her physically. By
definition, a slave could not be raped. She did not own her body so
she had no right to decide what anybody else did with it. But
property could be mistreated and a man who was wealthy enough to
own a slave was powerful enough to exact terrible vengeance on
anyone who was foolish enough to mistreat his property.
    Commoners knew that molesting a slave was not
worth the risk. Certainly not on a public street in broad
daylight.
    On a dark, empty street after midnight, it
would be a different matter. The wise slave would never leave her
kennel after dark. And the owner who sent her out would have to
expect her to come back well used by anyone who found her.
    The walk down the hill was long, cold, and
miserable.
    She could not touch the books with wet hands
so she stood inside the entrance to the bookstore and dripped on
the doormat for a long time.
    The clerk glared at her in disgust. Female
customers ignored her but male customers ogled her openly.
    She kept her eyes lowered, refusing to meet
anyone’s gaze.
    Her dress did not dry but, eventually, her
hands did. As soon as she could touch paper without leaving a mark,
she sought out the shelves with cookbooks and perused the titles. Learning to Cook looked like the best one, but it cost
twenty-five plaqs and she had only twenty. Cooking
Essentials cost fourteen-ninety-nine so she took that to the
cash.
    The clerk didn’t look at her or speak to her,
just took the money, put it in the register, and closed the
drawer.
    Flame stood there for a moment waiting.
    When the clerk signaled for the next
customer, Flame said, “I need the change and a receipt.”
    “No change,” the clerk replied.
    “Then the receipt will say that the book cost
exactly twenty plaqs.”
    Flame couldn’t believe that anyone would be
so petty. When she was a lady, no clerk had ever dared treat her
with anything less than servile accommodation. But, lady or slave,
she was going to keep standing right here in front of the cash
until she got what she was due from this stupid creature.
    The clerk stared at her and she stared
back.
    The waiting customer said, “I can’t wait all
day. Get this settled.”
    Flame spoke again. “You do realize that I’m a
slave, right? I can’t own anything so this is not my money or my
book. You aren’t trying to cheat me; you’re trying to cheat my
owner. He will not like that.”
    The clerk relented, rang up the purchase
properly, and dropped the change and receipt on the floor, forcing
Flame to squat down and pick it up.
    “A bag,” Flame said.
    “No bag.” The clerk’s voice was firm.
    She was an especially slow, stupid creature
if she still failed to comprehend the situation.
    “This book is my owner’s property,” Flame
said. “When it is damaged by the rain, he will have to return it. I
will be beaten but I will make sure that he speaks to your manager
and has you sacked. Don’t underestimate the influence that a slave
can exert over her owner when she is about to suck his cock. My
bruises will heal long before you find another job.”
    “Give her a bag,” the waiting customer
said.
    The clerk threw a plastic bag at Flame. It,
too, fell on the